Frank finds the least sleazy-looking sex supplies shop that's not too far away, parks, walks in, and stops dead in his tracks.
It's as big as a fucking Costco.
He takes a deep couple breaths, and then gets a cart, because he only ever really wants to do have to do this once. He's only getting this stuff because otherwise they'll keep doing it with unsafe things, given that he saw the gag-dildo and the torture device one in the trash as he was leaving.
And thus he searches.
The 'small' section looks too small to him. Frank doesn't actually have a great sense of scale in terms of dildoes, but given that Peter appeared to be pretty comfortable with an entire neck of a closed beer bottle and other...objects..in his ass, they looked tiny by comparison.
When he got to the 'medium' aisle, Frank realized that he had no idea what types of sex toys they actually want, so he decides to get one--no, two, fuck, he can't have them getting jealous or weird about it--of each sort.
Halfway through, as he agonizes over whether he should just drop this charade and mercy-kill these poor suckers, or try to find some rescue place to take them in, because clearly Frank is not up to task, a sales assistant comes up to him.
He stares at the guy, a reedy-looking guy with strangely shiny hair.
"How can I help you sir? Shopping for a friend, lover, wife, slave?"
Frank's face twitches. The guy mistakes the disdain for interest, apparently, or else must be part lemming, and then cheerfully goes on, "Slave then? Well, if you're planning to wear out one of the hungry ones, we've got a sale on a gallon of lube at the lube aisle, aisle seven! It comes in fourteen different flavors, ranging from white chocolate to passion fruit to lingonberry to birthday cake! Absolutely sugar-free and safe for all sexes of slaves."
Frank feels himself go cold like stone, leeching out any cheery warmth in the atmosphere. It's a surreal image: this bizarrely cheerful twerpy teenager telling him how to better rape a pair of victims, standing in a flourescent-lit warehouse with neon signs advertising what was in each aisle, Frank's coat closed over his blood-splattered chest plate.
He wanted to open fire right now, kill them all. Every last one. Stack the bodies in the corner and go three stores over and reload and shoot, keep going until the whole world was dead, just Matt and Peter and every single person like them left.
Not even him.
The sales associate had backed halfway away, and when Frank said, his voice not even resembling him, "I'm not interested," the guy bleated out, "We also have a series of training videos, demonstrating how our toys can be used on your toys in aisle ten--"
Frank said, voice the exact same, "I'm. Not. Interested. Fuck off."
The guy chirped as he fled, somehow still unnaturally smiling, "We also have plenty of ads for personal trainers to give them an oil change and a tune-up if you're ever interested!"
Frank watched the guy leave, feeling a lot like a crocodile that had singled out one particularly idiotic gazelle.
He turned back and saw a row of bright pink 'rabbits', whatever they were. He got two of the blue ones--more expensive, but he didn't care--and went on.
He did end up getting the gallon of lube, in bubblegum flavor, because Matt had said they needed it, and fuck if Frank wasn't going to at least try.
--
As he went up the stairs, Master seemed more...tightly wound than he had in days, so Matt turned off the pans on the oven and he and Peter obediently knelt. Masters enjoyed coming back to an orderly household with slaves that knew their place.
Except that Master didn't say anything, just put down the shopping bags and a gallon of something, and then went to the bedroom.
Matt and Peter consulted each other in whispers, and decided that Peter would clean as much off of everything as he could, and Matt would finish the food. Maybe Master just needed space. He seemed to clean his guns off a lot.
After the food, Master turned to them and said, calmly, "Those things in the shopping bags over there--" and he must have been pointing, and Matt panicked because he couldn't obey orders that required looking at things, and Masters hated giving clarifications-- "the ones that are to the left of you, Matt, are for you two. You can do whatever with them as long as neither of you injures either of you."
Oh, now Matt was curious as to what was in them. Were they chocolate or pet-play-toys or something?
Then Master continued gruffly, "I read that creating a comforting environment is important. Do either of you know how to make a blanket fort?"
Matt tilted his head. He didn't know what a blanket fort was.
--
As it turned out, a blanket fort was a collection of cushions, pillows, and other soft things on a floor, with a sort of tent-canopy made of blankets and stocked with them, with what were apparently soft, small, warm-colored lights that made it glow on the inside, Peter described to Matt. Master had directed them, his voice short and flat, but somehow he didn't seem to be angry with them, not if he was giving them nice things.
Matt wondered what they had done to deserve the nice things, what they were doing right. It could be a whim, or a mind-game, making them think that they were safe and yanking it away, but somehow Matt didn't think so. This Master was...kind, fundamentally kind, and Matt hoped he'd keep them for even longer.
The only rule, Master had said, regarding the blanket fort, was that they could not have sex in it. Matt wasn't sure why--the rule about the guns and the kitchen countertops made sense once he had thought about them--but rules were rules, and this wasn't a rule like 'Peter gets to only eat if you suck my cock better than my wife did' or 'you have to obey my son and his friends' or 'the gag doesn't come out, but the hollow part will be unscrewed, and you'll feed him the shakes or starve him you idiot needy whore', it was a rule Matt was glad to obey.
Matt didn't want to leave the blanket fort, and neither did Peter, and it felt so warm and cozy and protective that after their quick, cold-water showers (Master hadn't said they could use the warm water yet), they put on the long shirts Master wanted them to sleep in and cuddled together there, falling asleep in a tangle of limbs.
FILL, Pt 9/?
It's as big as a fucking Costco.
He takes a deep couple breaths, and then gets a cart, because he only ever really wants to do have to do this once. He's only getting this stuff because otherwise they'll keep doing it with unsafe things, given that he saw the gag-dildo and the torture device one in the trash as he was leaving.
And thus he searches.
The 'small' section looks too small to him. Frank doesn't actually have a great sense of scale in terms of dildoes, but given that Peter appeared to be pretty comfortable with an entire neck of a closed beer bottle and other...objects..in his ass, they looked tiny by comparison.
When he got to the 'medium' aisle, Frank realized that he had no idea what types of sex toys they actually want, so he decides to get one--no, two, fuck, he can't have them getting jealous or weird about it--of each sort.
Halfway through, as he agonizes over whether he should just drop this charade and mercy-kill these poor suckers, or try to find some rescue place to take them in, because clearly Frank is not up to task, a sales assistant comes up to him.
He stares at the guy, a reedy-looking guy with strangely shiny hair.
"How can I help you sir? Shopping for a friend, lover, wife, slave?"
Frank's face twitches. The guy mistakes the disdain for interest, apparently, or else must be part lemming, and then cheerfully goes on, "Slave then? Well, if you're planning to wear out one of the hungry ones, we've got a sale on a gallon of lube at the lube aisle, aisle seven! It comes in fourteen different flavors, ranging from white chocolate to passion fruit to lingonberry to birthday cake! Absolutely sugar-free and safe for all sexes of slaves."
Frank feels himself go cold like stone, leeching out any cheery warmth in the atmosphere. It's a surreal image: this bizarrely cheerful twerpy teenager telling him how to better rape a pair of victims, standing in a flourescent-lit warehouse with neon signs advertising what was in each aisle, Frank's coat closed over his blood-splattered chest plate.
He wanted to open fire right now, kill them all. Every last one. Stack the bodies in the corner and go three stores over and reload and shoot, keep going until the whole world was dead, just Matt and Peter and every single person like them left.
Not even him.
The sales associate had backed halfway away, and when Frank said, his voice not even resembling him, "I'm not interested," the guy bleated out, "We also have a series of training videos, demonstrating how our toys can be used on your toys in aisle ten--"
Frank said, voice the exact same, "I'm. Not. Interested. Fuck off."
The guy chirped as he fled, somehow still unnaturally smiling, "We also have plenty of ads for personal trainers to give them an oil change and a tune-up if you're ever interested!"
Frank watched the guy leave, feeling a lot like a crocodile that had singled out one particularly idiotic gazelle.
He turned back and saw a row of bright pink 'rabbits', whatever they were. He got two of the blue ones--more expensive, but he didn't care--and went on.
He did end up getting the gallon of lube, in bubblegum flavor, because Matt had said they needed it, and fuck if Frank wasn't going to at least try.
--
As he went up the stairs, Master seemed more...tightly wound than he had in days, so Matt turned off the pans on the oven and he and Peter obediently knelt. Masters enjoyed coming back to an orderly household with slaves that knew their place.
Except that Master didn't say anything, just put down the shopping bags and a gallon of something, and then went to the bedroom.
Matt and Peter consulted each other in whispers, and decided that Peter would clean as much off of everything as he could, and Matt would finish the food. Maybe Master just needed space. He seemed to clean his guns off a lot.
After the food, Master turned to them and said, calmly, "Those things in the shopping bags over there--" and he must have been pointing, and Matt panicked because he couldn't obey orders that required looking at things, and Masters hated giving clarifications-- "the ones that are to the left of you, Matt, are for you two. You can do whatever with them as long as neither of you injures either of you."
Oh, now Matt was curious as to what was in them. Were they chocolate or pet-play-toys or something?
Then Master continued gruffly, "I read that creating a comforting environment is important. Do either of you know how to make a blanket fort?"
Matt tilted his head. He didn't know what a blanket fort was.
--
As it turned out, a blanket fort was a collection of cushions, pillows, and other soft things on a floor, with a sort of tent-canopy made of blankets and stocked with them, with what were apparently soft, small, warm-colored lights that made it glow on the inside, Peter described to Matt. Master had directed them, his voice short and flat, but somehow he didn't seem to be angry with them, not if he was giving them nice things.
Matt wondered what they had done to deserve the nice things, what they were doing right. It could be a whim, or a mind-game, making them think that they were safe and yanking it away, but somehow Matt didn't think so. This Master was...kind, fundamentally kind, and Matt hoped he'd keep them for even longer.
The only rule, Master had said, regarding the blanket fort, was that they could not have sex in it. Matt wasn't sure why--the rule about the guns and the kitchen countertops made sense once he had thought about them--but rules were rules, and this wasn't a rule like 'Peter gets to only eat if you suck my cock better than my wife did' or 'you have to obey my son and his friends' or 'the gag doesn't come out, but the hollow part will be unscrewed, and you'll feed him the shakes or starve him you idiot needy whore', it was a rule Matt was glad to obey.
Matt didn't want to leave the blanket fort, and neither did Peter, and it felt so warm and cozy and protective that after their quick, cold-water showers (Master hadn't said they could use the warm water yet), they put on the long shirts Master wanted them to sleep in and cuddled together there, falling asleep in a tangle of limbs.